Pan's Back
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Peter goes back for Wendy and becomes Peter Banning. But what if Hook survived the battle and as his last act of vengeance, travels to London to kidnap Peter and Wendy's children? Will Peter remember Neverland? A full-on 'Hook' movie rewrite for the 2003 Peter Pan version. Peter/Wendy included; Pandarling.
**I own nothing regarding the Peter Pan franchise, the 2003 version, or the _Hook_ film.**

 **Please read, review if desired, and I hope viewers enjoy it.**

* * *

 _All children grow up, except one...but, what if he did?_

* * *

Peter arrives at the little house at Number 14 during the night, at the rise of Springtide, drifting through the one open window he finds and the white curtains are like his shroud as he slips between them. He hovers near Wendy's bed, the calloused curves of his toes barely touch the wood floor beneath them.

"Wendy," he beckons quietly, minding how loud he is even though they're the only ones in the room now, within her new lady's room. "Wendy, I've come for you."

With a throaty hum, Wendy stirs, rolls over, and sits up, confused at first, but Peter can still make out the blue of her clear widening eyes. She's staring up at him now, seeming happy to see him. She does not rise from the bed though. It's still cold at this hour, this time of year, and her bed is the comfortable and warmer option.

"I knew you'd come," she smiles softly then, "I knew you wouldn't forget me."

Peter moves forward and lowers to his haunches alongside her bedside, hands overlapping on the covers. "Me? Forget you? Never."

"How is Neverland?"

He grins. "It's Neverland. The same Neverland as you know it."

He wants to ask her to come back with him, but he bites his lip instead.

Wendy can tell he must be debating over it as he continues rambling on, trying to create casual pleasant talk like two children would do huddled up together in a treehouse. They stay there for a while and Peter gladly fills her on the latest adventures he's had, and he comments on the Faerie Glens' seasonal celebration, and on what the pirate survivors have been doing, and he informs her of the newest Lost Boy who washed up on shore. Peter calls the boy Don't Ask, because that's the main response he gets whenever Peter questions the boy on his previous life on the Outside.

Their entire conversation revolves around Neverland. They _don't_ talk about her parents, and they don't verbalize the fact that she's fourteen now, another year older, and he's still forever thirteen.

 _Speaking of which..._

"Where's Tink?" Wendy blurts out considerately.

"I left her in charge of the Nevertree Hideaway when I left. She's still showing Don't Ask the ropes."

"I see."

"Do you have any more stories I could tell her?"

Wendy shakes her head sweetly. "No," she sighs, "they're all about you. And she knows those quite well."

"I see...," he simply echoes her, glancing down at his hands. "...I...I...must return before first light and I can't see which stars to follow from here anymore."

Wendy watches him rise to his feet. "Will you come back?" (Peter notices how she hasn't used his name yet tonight, not once. It leaves him wondering why this is.)

"If you keep your window open, I shall."

"I will," Wendy promises him, devotedly. "Always."

"Then, yes, I may come back."

 **-x-**

One Springtide later, Wendy has just turned fifteen and he's still thirteen.

"Wendy?" he whispers, tiptoeing closer. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," he hears her say as his invitation to join her. "I am now."

Wendy still adores him and talks quietly with him, but she doesn't utter his name. Not once.

However, in its place, she is brave enough to plead with him, "Stay longer."

"I—," Peter hesitates initially, then he pulls away fast from the feel of her smooth fingertips brushing across his shoulder. "—No, Wendy, don't. Neverland awaits. Besides...Tink... can't control the newcomers on her own as easily as last time for that long."

Peter now has Ace, Heart-Stopper, Thud Butt, Ziggy, Pockets, and Rib-Tickler in his ranks too, not just Don't Ask anymore. Not to mention, as of two days ago, they've found a brand new set of dirty-haired-sand-covered twins who had just showed up on the mer-shell pulley. These twins are sort of daft compared to boys like Slightly and Nibs used to be, and they walk and talk in unison a lot which annoys Peter sometimes, and they don't know who's firstborn or who's second; hence why Peter simply addresses them as Sooner or Later.

And besides that (for some unsaid reason) the mermaids have grown more restless than usual. Peter has to play his pipes constantly down by the water to keep them just calm enough to _not_ drown the boys when they bathe or swim.

Still, regardless of these things, Wendy seeks a slight compromise. "...Could you at least just wait here until I fall asleep, then?"

He stands there, stubborn and stiff, pressing his palms to his hips as usual. "Alright. Until you fall asleep."

Wendy's seen that look on his face before. The first time was when they were dancing against the dark blue sky, outlined by the moon, soaked in faerie light.

 _"Wendy, it's all make-believe, right? That you and I are...?"_

 _"Oh. Yes...it is."_

So, she holds her tongue and just nods back at him in gratitude before she resettles against the pillows and curls up tightly and snuggly, facing him.

Eventually, her eyes gently flutter shut.

But Peter keeps his promise and he stands guard over her and her bed till he sees her out cold and unware of his departure.

 **-x-**

Before that same year is up, Peter comes to think about Wendy relentlessly and continuously.

Yes, he laughs with the mermaids still, and he holds council with the Native Chief and jokes around with Tiger Lily, and shares Wendy's stories to the fresh batches of Lost Boys the Isle has claimed since his previous visit, and he feeds Tick Tock leftover meat he's saved from hunting. Then...there's Rufio, who is frankly the roughest and... _oldest_ Lost Boy Peter's ever known to set foot on Neverland soil. Effortlessly, (almost naturally, just like that) Rufio takes his place as Peter's Second in Command overtime and helps maintain their authority over the others when it's called for. And Peter can lie to many people at a time if he _really_ wants to since storytelling has become so much easier to him. Though Peter can't ever lie to himself; he sees how Rufio can actually come off frightening to the littlest ones they have under their watch and he acknowledges how impressive Rufio's combat skills are compared to Ziggy's or Thud Butt's who can't be that much younger than Rufio themselves—and, if Peter wasn't, well—his glorious, clever, crowing, flying self—then he'd probably fall in line with the rest of them too and find the tall, dark haired melting-pot kid more intimidating. The only safety net Peter has from Rufio's potential to overpower his ruling, is the single fact that _he_ can fly, and he can really _fight_ , and he can _crow_ , and _he's_ the Isle's favorite. Neverland chose _him_ first and foremost.

All of this is a regular pattern they've gotten accustomed to...playing, vine swinging, hut building, more playing, running from pirates, more playing...but, the thing that's changing about this whole pattern is Peter himself.

He's gradually drifting out of place here. His mind isn't always focused here on the Isle. His outer body still feels tethered to Neverland, and his shadow is still sewn skillfully to the soles of his feet thanks to Wendy. Though, it's...his heart that seems to be sailing away from the rest of him, flying off towards the horizon on its own accord.

Neverland's magic starts to respond. It knows Peter is feeling conflicted. The jungle rains turn to autumn when the sun is shining its brightest, and the flowers become covered in frost again under the tropical heat, and even the calmest of nights are disturbed by a flash of lightning.

Tinkerbell finds him sitting alone along the beach one afternoon, with his arms loosely hugging his legs to his chest, his bright green eyes are transfixed on the sea, deep in thought. And...honestly, when the one and only Peter Pan is lost in his thoughts, reflecting back on his life and reanalyzing things like an adult would possibly do, then clearly _something_ has to be happening to him.

She buzzes closer and lands easily on a large white round stone that's resting beside him. She crosses her arms, taps her foot in derision, and raises her brow at him.

He finally looks down at her and snaps out a half-clueless "What?"

"You know what, you silly ass," she bites back, jingling away, because even _she_ can understand it perfectly well. "Go back to her."

"I can't leave you!" Peter says defiantly, even though he figures out exactly what she means and they are now both pondering if he's actually that bold to try it. "I can't leave. You know that. I'll never leave Neverland! What would you even do without me, Tink?"

Rolling her eyes, Tink merely shrugs and plays with her golden curls. Oddly enough, she isn't glowing green with jealously when she says, "I'll wait for the next one. Pan after Pan, all the way down the line."

Normally by all means, Peter should be sickened by the idea. He should scold her for acting so mature about this and should loathe her for sounding so wise and so generous and just so...so _practical_. But then again, she's so small...and pixies like her can only feel one feeling at a time, and right now, she's humble. Accepting.

Peter sneers in distaste. "No way." And childishly, he grabs a fistful of sand and throws it into the waves rolling before him, hoping to show her that he's actually outraged. "I shan't! I won't! I wouldn't!"

"You would so!" Tink finishes for him sternly, still sounding very unlike the Tink he's always known before today. "You would, because you want to...and you _always_ do whatever pleases you. And you do want to. Otherwise, you wouldn't be throwing a temper right now, Peter Pan. You'd be sniggering in my face, telling me outright how ridiculous and stupid I am."

"It's impossible. It's not—what if I—what about the—?" Peter trails off with a huff, and finally lets down his guard and says _precisely_ what he wishes to deny, only because it's Tink and no one else. She's his best friend in this whole wide world. "It _scares_ me."

"Why? You're The Pan." Tink beams, and her wings suddenly perk up and flutter eagerly, and she points a finger at him with an encouraging smirk. "You are the bravest boy who's ever lived."

 **-x-**

A few weeks after that, Wendy's surprised to see him the night he decides to sneak in, since it's not Springtide yet. Her hand flies up to cover her pounding heart after he appears behind her door, waiting for her to return from the washroom all along.

She instantly wonders why he's breaking tradition like this.

"You frightened me!" she hisses at him and hastily shuts her door to block out their voices.

He doesn't care about that, simply greeting her with, "I came to ask something of you."

Wendy stalls, and swallows hard before walking towards her bedpost. "Alright. What is it?"

"Say my name?"

Wendy challenges him straightaway by shaking her head, her hands balling up into fists at her sides. He sees the thin tears suddenly forming under her dark lashes. "No, it hurts too much."

"I'll stay right here until you say it."

"You'll leave before dawn," Wendy sighs deeply, taking another step backwards without another glance at him. "We both know that."

"I won't," Peter protests.

"Of course you will! It's against the riddle of your being. You won't stay."

Peter advances on her slowly, delicately, as if she's a newborn lamb. "Just say it, Wendy?"

"No."

The current Wendy Darling is no stranger to magical forces or fairytales. She's been a real part of them once and they have taught her special lessons about life because she believed in them to. She knows there is a certain power words can hold. Spells and charms are made from words, after all. One should use their own words wisely. And she knows one name can carry a greater power than that. She refuses to use that power tonight. She doesn't want to reopen a door she won't be able to lock up again. With practice, she's trained herself perfectly well to not be selfish whenever Peter Pan is involved, and she can't come unrivaled now. It wouldn't be so ladylike on her part.

"Then, I guess I _will_ have to stay until you give in," he tells her.

"You're being cruel," she accuses him openly, dismayed. Her watery eyes finally gaze back at him, shining with a soft simmering fury beneath. "I am not playing with you right now. I am _not_ one of your games."

"Either am I."

"Then what is this? Why are you doing this to me?" Wendy, quite understandably, is not so convinced and she's very unsure of his attitude. Her following moments are equally tense and sharp. She stalks over to her wardrobe for her hairbrush, then whirls back to the bedside table; her honey-dark curls and new white negligée fan out around her.

"I could blame for you this, Wendy." There's a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth despite her ill-temperament, but she still doesn't find any humor in his words at all.

"Fine, then leave. Blame me all you want for something I don't understand. But I'll never say your name in front of you again for as long as I live. Or don't live!"

"Wendy...," Peter's off the ground and gliding right after her now, blocking her path. His hands rest under her elbows in hopes of calming her down (and holding her still for a moment) for all he wants is one more look from her.

Instead, her cleaned china-doll hands instinctively press flat against on his chest, her chin ducked, and Peter decides that's good enough. "Wendy...I'll stay, if you want me to."

"You can't," she repeats. "You can't. You won't."

"I could. I do whatever I please, remember?"

Wendy closes her eyes, feeling so incredibly torn—feeling so desperate to be free of him once and for all—but he's here, with her, saying the kind of words she had wished him to say three years ago before they parted ways. And, alas, her hands aren't letting him go. They now are clutching tightly around the forest skeleton leaves woven into his tunic. She can smell the back of the winds on him now. "What about Tink?" she objects then, "What would she say?"

"She gave me her blessing." Peter informs her hearteningly. "She's actually...the one who made me decide what I wanted more. There or here. I came here."

Wendy releases another harsh sigh of exasperation, ultimately being physically able to withdraw herself away from him. "I can't believe this." Her palm lifts to her forehead. "I can't believe this happening."

"Why not?" Peter maintains his close distance with her, worried he's pushing too far in the wrong way.

"Because I _know_ you." Facing him once more, Wendy makes her tone sound purposeful, sensible, and straight-to-the-point. Nothing else. She lets her concerns and qualms be heard out loud. "I know what kind of boy you are." This isn't supposed to be an insult Peter gathers, it's just what she's most aware of. "You'll change your mind. You'll go back. And I can't lose you again. I can't stand it. You'll suffer here, and you'll leave me. _Again_. You won't become a man. You're a boy who stays a boy! You'll be a boy still, you hear me?"

"But that's not...not...what I want," is his anxious response. Peter's not _as_ skilled or _as_ attentive as she is when it comes to selecting the right phrases he needs to express everything he really means.

Wendy, therefore, has to ask yet, "Then, why? What _do_ you want from me?"

"I just want to stay with you," he wets his lips, whispering, "that's it. You, Wendy Bird. So just say my name, and I will."

Truth. That's what she can see gleaming in his eyes at this point—it's the _truth_ , and she's getting overwhelmed with a fresh wave of emotion. She embraces him, swiftly and grateful, arms circling his neck. Peter recognizes what's coming, and he catches her, prepared for the impact. Her fingers are threading up through his dirty unruly fair hair.

 _"Peter,"_ she chants his name like an innocent prayer into the curve his tanned shoulder under her breath, exceedingly pleased that this is real. That he's hers, and he wants to live with her in return. _"Peter. Peter. Peter."_

Thus, from beyond the windowpane, a familiar pixie watches Peter lean down and gives Wendy a quick, chaste thimble on her lips, similar to the one she had given him upon Hook's ship.

Tinkerbell smiles, only a little bit. Perhaps...she _will_ be angry in the morning about this. Perhaps, she'll even be afraid, or lonely, or she'll become completely jealous of Wendy all over again.

Although, presently, her tiny heart is only filled with a gentle joy.

Wendy makes Peter Pan feel whole, and Peter makes Wendy the happiest girl in the entire world, and so, for tonight, she'll let herself believe that everything will be alright from now on.

 **-x-**

The original six Lost Boys (or, the now _loved_ and _found_ boys) are certainly all shocked, yet quite enthusiastic as soon as they hear that The Pan himself has indeed returned to London to stay with them. For good.

Their parents however, Wendy's father and mother, plus Aunt Millicent, are naturally more on edge when Wendy happens to come down the stairs with Peter on her heel that fateful morning. She introduces him and wraps up him in a blanket.

There's obviously a long strand of questions of who, what, when, and how which is followed by a more serious discussion of where to go from here, and Peter actually puts a remarkable amount of personal effort into answering everything that's thrown at him.

Eventually the adults even insist on having a vote.

Wendy holds her ground through it all though, declaring that if they'd dare chase Peter out, she'd disown them and leave with him! (If she could stand reasonably courageous before Captain Hook while being his captive...then she certainly can find the nerve to challenge her father now since this matters greatly to her.) Peter is hers, she makes this very clear; he is her choice, the only boy she'll ever want most.

Mary Darling meanwhile, notices how Peter also refuses to part from her daughter's side. The entire time their household fills up with this rapid tension and uncertainty, he's touching her in some way, subtly putting his own claim on her, whether it be his hand curling over her wrist or his knee firmly pressing against hers as they sit down together. And, Wendy, bless her kind little heart, welcomes it. Mary can see it's young love, first love, and the hidden kiss on the right-hand corner of Wendy's mouth is clearly gone...already given away to someone special to her, and Mary doesn't have to mention it. She knows it must be the boy.

The day carries on with more lectures and more plans, and Wendy is steadfast on giving Peter time to at least settle in a bit before they start talking about their responsible future goals!

It's past midnight now. Wendy was sent upstairs hours ago with the boys as usual and Peter's told to rest in the parlor for the moment.

George finally composes himself and he sinks into his favored armchair two rooms over. Mary's muscles are no longer rigid either, heavy with motherly protectiveness. She's inwardly terrified that Peter will steal Wendy away from them somehow, again, for he has accomplished this once before already. Though to be fair, Peter appears to be concerned about the same exact thing. He didn't want Wendy to just become anyone else's.

"What do we do with him, the savage boy?" George asks her delicately.

"We are the ones who encouraged Wendy to make these sort of changes and grow up," Mary determines, then she rounds the chair, lowering herself onto the old settee nearby. She exhales. Her fingers instinctively raise to play with the gold locket around her neck and her graceful gaze becomes fixed on the blazing fire ahead. Red shadows dance across her cheeks as they do the same across George's clear spectacles. "And if...this is her first decision made as a matured young lady, then perhaps...it's our duty to accept that. Besides, the boys came from his homeland too, right? Why should we treat him any differently than them?"

"Because he _is_ different," her husband points out. "We both can see that. He _means_ something different to Wendy than her brothers do."

"All the more reason we should try and treat him with respect."

George sighs, finding her reasons valid and just. "So be it then."

The final issue at hand is Peter's lodging.

The Darling household is, bluntly, overcrowded with happy lively boys running everywhere as it is, plus, they have dear ol' Nana scampering about who is the size of a small pony herself. The bedrooms and spare guests rooms alike are all claimed and occupied, two of which are currently multi-bedded, and there's very little empty spaces left at the dining table during meals. In addition to that, lovers or betrotheds (or whatever Peter and Wendy will prefer to call each other) should not share the same house before their actual marriage anyhow...it simply is not done.

Therefore, after much added scheduling and careful consideration, and while Wendy busies herself with personally teaching Peter how to read and write properly, Peter is eventually taken in by a childless neighbor couple who live three houses apart from the Darlings at Number 17. The Banning residence also is right next to Number 18, which has been recently purchased by Aunt Millicent along with Slightly, so that they too, could be closer to the rest of their family.

Peter does not complain about being Slightly's closest neighbor in particular. But it does take time for him to warm to up to the Bannings.

At first, Mitchel Banning, who's very tall, broad shouldered, russet-haired and brown-eyed is gone for work before Peter could see him most days. He's very book smart and his studying to become a top medic. His wife, gentle and golden-curled Rachel, is a midwife and a music teacher on the side. Her way with piano keys especially is honestly more than impressive.

Peter still doesn't call Rachel his mother even when she's hinted that it would alright with her if he does.

However, overtime things for them even out a little more and they are able to make their own routines, and so Peter and the Bannings are not perfect strangers anymore. Both Mitchel and Rachel frequently coax Peter into playing music with them in the evenings, and they constantly support him in his private tutoring at home, and they listen to his stories whenever he's willing to share them. They even invite the Darlings to the theater on special occasions (particularly Peter's first London Christmas celebration), quickly realizing the theater itself is a place Peter really comes to enjoy visiting.

 **-x-**

The one good thing about the Bannings is that...they never leave him behind, and that does take Peter by great surprise; and without fully knowing it, they are successfully reshaping everything he's ever hated about adults. Because the only adults Peter remembers the most are bloodthirsty pirates or his very first set of parents who had abandoned him at Kensington Gardens, forgetting about him, then replaced him with another baby boy. Mitchel and Rachel, in comparison, have never once turned their backs on Peter when he has something important to ask, or he wants to eat or sleep, or needs something else that Wendy says he should have at this age. The Bannings are overall openhearted, and a genuine loving husband and wife.

One night, Peter tells Rachel outright that she has a secret flower faerie living inside the clock placed upon the mantel...so that's why her plants around the house look so healthy all year round after Rachel plants them into their vases. The flower faerie weaves her magic to help nourish them during the night when they're all asleep.

"And how do you know that?" Rachel asks him with soft laughter rippling through her words, forever so amused by his imagination.

"I've seen her," Peter shrugs matter-of-factly. "She's drawn out in by your music. Her name's Dapplewing."

And Rachel just blinks back at him, then smiles.

That very next night Peter creeps out into the hallway past his set bedtime when he overhears Mitchel smoking cigars and handing out wine to his older tired co-workers. One of them, a wrinkled fat man with a round grey-streaked beard complains about his home life. "My wife has been hoping and praying to host a picnic with our two young grandchildren on the seashore for weeks now. She insists it'll be a grand afternoon and I won't regret it, but I know better," he grumbles, "I'm too old for things like hosting grand afternoons."

Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Mitchel on the other hand, releases a soft chuckle in turn, respectfully disagreeing with him by stating, "I don't think you're ever too old to have fun, Carter. You're only get old when you stop having fun."

And that's the precise moment when Peter begins to admire both of the Bannings equally. He decides that spending the rest of childhood with Mitchel and Rachel included doesn't look nearly as grim as it had from the beginning.

Peter confesses to Wendy that he's growing fond of the Bannings now, but he does this while standing right under her doorframe. He's still not allowed across the threshold of Wendy's bedroom unattended, day or night, when he visits Number 14, unless the circumstance becomes a liable urgent matter of life or death.

But, of course, that doesn't stop him from repeatedly sneaking out of his window and slipping in through hers on other nights, which is, _still_ kept open.

They fall asleep curled up together with their heads resting on the same pillow, and Wendy tenderly laces her fingers with his, rousing him gently when morning breaks and she tells him he should be getting home before he's caught right in the act.

 **-x-**

On another note, Peter cannot fly like he used to, (he can only hover so much off the wood floors in his room now if he concentrates hard enough) which feels so different for him. Nevertheless, he also doesn't mind the long walk to Wendy's school since Wendy is there waiting for him every day at the fence post, and her hands excitedly pull on his sleeves, smooth out his shoulders, or hold firm onto his elbow as they make their way back home.

 **-x-**

Mitchel aids Peter in getting his first job. It's not in a bank or a filing office; it's at their favorite theater down the street. Wendy had casually suggested this initially, for she knew if Peter's forced to work nowadays, it might as well be in place he can tolerate and still have his fun participating.

He works on the setting the stage and organizing the props, and he's up in the rafters monkeying with the wires or he's down below playing the flute when the actors practice their signing. (He even reads lines, and throws on extra costumes when no one else can that day and the theater company's head man, James M. Barrie, takes notice of Peter's performances). Sometimes, Peter comes home with a big satisfied grin plastered to his face and different colors of paint in his hair.

"Rachel-mother, Mister Barrie made a point to speak with me personally tonight after auditions," he says tonight as he shuts the door behind him.

Rachel wipes her hands on her apron and grants him a proud thimble to the forward. "Oh, Peter sweetheart, that's splendid."

Mitchel's already sitting at their dining room table, sipping at his after-dinner tea and reading the daily newsletter. He glances above the bent pages in his hands and adds, "I'm glad to see you thriving there, my boy."

"It gets better than that, Pops," Peter replies quickly. "He wants to write to a whole play with me. I'm going to ask Wendy to help me write down ideas because I thought we could use some our stories. Make them more known for all younger generations. Mister Barrie's very eager to hear what I have to tell him, I think. He's been struggling to find new inspirations in his writing."

The Bannings are ever so thrilled.

"That's smashing," Rachel cheers, "we should celebrate!"

 **-x-**

Rain is pouring down upon the deck as thunder roared over the distant hills of Neverland.

Smee climbs down the darkened narrow staircase, holding his lantern high and slyly aims for the back cubbies.

Since Pan had practically tossed Hook's body right into Tick Tock's hungry jaws—and his first little band of Lost Boys apparently left the shores to live in England with their beloved Wendy Bird—things in Neverland aren't quite the same. Numerous pirates still remain today, though most have sailed off, losing interest in Neverland altogether after Hook was declared defeated—declared dead.

Smee makes his way up row after row, searching for his one desire, and with no luck. He sighs and curses under his bearded breath. "Why is the rum always gone?"

"...Were you hoping to drown your sorrows away, Mister Smee?" a voice inquired, very unexpectedly.

Smee startles, dropping the lantern. It shatters over his boots and the light goes out.

He whirls around to see a dripping wet figure leaning against the opposite post for support. And if it wasn't for the constant flash of lightning, Smee would've been able to make out that silvery curve of a familiar hook.

"Cap'n," he cries out, "you're alive!"

"A tremendous observation that is on your part, Smee." Jas drawls out weary and unimpressed. "Good form."

"But how it can be, Cap'n?"

Jas sniffs and watches his first mate take a step closer, still staring at him as though he is speaking to a ghost that's returned from beyond the watery graves. Straightening his tattered coat then, he replies, "I managed to stay alive long enough to slice my way out of that beast's belly. And once I knew he was unconscious from the pain, I pried his mouth wide open with that damned ticking clock! I swear this on the Jolly Roger itself! When I get my hands on Pan this time, he's going to _beg_ for the last adventure he has left!"

Smee shudders at the thought, knowing that he'll have pass on some rather unfortunate news to the Captain. "...Ahh, 'bout that, there's s-something you should know, Cap'n."

"Oh, and what's that, Smee?"

"Pan's gone."

"Gone?" Jas hesitates. "What do you _mean_ he's gone?"

"Peter Pan left the Isle, Cap'n. For London. Now Neverland's changing."

And that is precisely when Jas feels his body spark to life again; his forget-me-not blue eyes gleam, matching the wildness of the storm outside. A wicked smile follows.

"At last, that's it!"

 **-x-**

The others girls at school only know so much about Wendy Moria Angela Darling.

They all know she has the charming and beautiful face of a live-sized doll; and she has pretty clothes, pretty brown curls like her mother, and pretty wide starry blue eyes that could make their boys in class melt on the spot. Her voice too is generally graceful and sweet-natured, and her stride is a graceful one when she wants it to be.

They also know that regardless of Wendy's outer appearance and good street manners, she's an odd girl at times. Some would say she's _too_ odd, too different, too wild in spirit to become a proper common lady of English Society.

See, she has only brothers at home, two by blood, and five more through fostering. That's evident. So a number of girls her age merely like to argue that's why Wendy Darling acts the way in which she does. She has no sisters or female cousins to call her own, so of course Wendy was doomed to acquire a few boyish habits along the way—such as climbing up the oak trees during school trips to Liverspool, and running barefoot through the tall grass as often as she could without being scolded, and sshe willingly went racing with all the schoolboys through the gardens; she even sits cross-legged in the fresh soil on the ground while she eats her packed lunch.

Wendy Darling also despises dressing in red, that deep scarlet red. They've noticed this on top of everything else. Red _is_ said to be the Devil's color, yes, but Wendy downright refuses to _acknowledge_ any boy or man wearing that single color.

And while Wendy can scrawl her name so perfectly and so elegantly across the headline of a piece of parchment, she is a dreadful artist by pen. She cannot draw people or animals that well at all. They're all stick figures or other horrible shapes looped together. But, it is her skillful tongue that makes up for such a flaw. Why would Wendy ever need pictures to tell a story when she could tell one as good as any novelist? When her mouth opens and she says _, "Once upon a time...in a faraway land...,"_ she has her whole audience before her, tall or small, totally captivated within a mere minute.

Those other girls at school still know a few additional things about Wendy.

They've heard that she likes to collect acorns in her pockets. What she does with them afterwards, they're not entirely sure.

Some days, she'll come off as a conservationist, a true Romantic who values the old ways, spending hours and hours planning on how to keep the natural forests and wildlife in London safe from Industrialism. Some have overheard her muttering things about the poor faeries that would have to move if their houses if they ever to be torn down by mankind. Someone, a young paperboy, has even caught Wendy Darling leaving a trail of small bowls filled with fresh cream along the tree lines, adamant on treating said faeries.

Though, in the end, helping children meeker or poorer than herself is Wendy's real passion; motherhood and being nurturing to those who need it. It's her life's calling. She dotes on all the younger siblings who eventually arrive in school with the rest, as well as the orphans she finds huddled around the paved corner. She provides them food for the day, clothes for the winter and of all things, medicine too, the sticky-sweet kind. She often speaks of opening an orphan-house of her very own some day after her schooling is completed.

Wendy overall, studies hard when she's expected to, and considerably thinks harder about the world turning around her on her own accord. She fully accepts her maturing responsibilities, and yet, she loves her playtime too.

Wendy's spoken for now too, in fact. She is currently one half of a whole, a part of the union that is known as Peter and Wendy.

According to the reports from the three girls who have witnessed Peter walking Wendy home, he has yellow-wheat hair and striking green eyes that seem to shine like jewels. He's also two years behind Wendy, but that's no real issue for Wend. It's not even that obvious considering how he's a little taller than her. Those other girls consistently agree that he's one of the most mysterious _and_ frankly the cutest thing to be ever seen wandering around London City. Nevertheless, they try not to even bother to be jealous of Wendy, for they all see how no one else would have a single chance getting him.

Their wedding itself, takes place six years later, and it is not what any of them are originally expecting.

The setting is not exactly traditional. It occurs at the Bannings' at Number 17, outside, during Springtide, surrounded by the forces of nature instead of a cathedral. Wendy wears a fetching gown of all blue lace in place of white, and as Peter recites his vows, the pair exchange simpler objects like a thimble and an acorn on matching gold chains rather than sharing two normal wedding bands.

Still, no one really has the gull to spoil such an event and protest against their creativity. In truth, for whatever reason they can't name, this sort of thing seems to suit Peter and Wendy perfectly.

It feels quite magical.

So...what could go wrong?


End file.
